


Scream

by DestinyWaits



Series: Fireteam Schadenfreude: Atlas Telamon [2]
Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Fireteam Schadenfreude, Gen, Mentions of Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:39:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7765249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestinyWaits/pseuds/DestinyWaits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night Patrols are the bane of her existence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scream

Atlas hates patrolling at night.

She hates the way the air turns cold, how it seeps into the cracks of her armor, the incessant whistling of the wind as it blew against her hunched figure, trudging into the night. She hates the glow the moon casts on her surroundings, its dull brightness unnatural, almost metallic against the murky depths of the sea beside her. She hates how everything seems magnified: every step she takes is a crack of thunder, every rippling shadow is a Stealth Vandal, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But most of all, she hates the screams.

When the sun sets and the embrace of darkness closes in, she hears the Fallen howl from beyond the Walls. Like clockwork, she hears their symphony of pain and anger, echoing in the quiet stillness of the Cosmodrome.

And she absolutely _abhors_ it.

Because what right do they have to be angry, when _they_ were the ones who cause so much destruction, who want to destroy and pillage humanity’s last stronghold? What right do they have to scream in pain when it’s because of _them_ that the world is the way it is?

She knows this is immature thinking, knows there’s more to her enemies, knows she shouldn’t place blame on something she doesn’t understand. She knows little of their origins, less about their motives, and certainly nothing about _why_ they screech into space like wounded animals.

But the Fallen are a constant reminder of the Darkness, of the very force that took away her life, her family, her world. Behind every punch, every bullet, every grenade aimed against them, is Atlas reclaiming her home, one dead Fallen at a time.

At least that’s what she tells herself.

She hates and hates and _hates_.

But Atlas is so _tired_. Tired of the anger, tired of fighting screams in her head, tired of the cold exhaustion set into her very bones. Hatred can only burn so long, can only keep a person warm for a short while.

She stops in the middle of a snow-ridden field and it is in that stark whiteness that Atlas is struck by the fact that she is truly alone. Her friends? Dead. Family? Dead.

Herself? Dead.

All of them. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Nothing of theirs exists anymore: she has no bodies to bury, no skeletons to weep over, nothing to treasure except her memories, and even those have been tainted by the coming of the Darkness.

Her knees buckling, Atlas fell underneath the weight of a nonexistent world. Fumbling with her helmet’s buckles, she slides it off of her head, gasping for air as the tears fall freely down her face. Her eyes dart around, looking for something to ground her, to keep her anchored to this reality, but everywhere she looks, she’s reminded of the dead.

She looks at the stars, but sees countless nights spent underneath a blanket, next to the person she loved. She looks at the ships, but sees her brother’s eyes, curious with a sparkle of determination, how he would eagerly caress the metal birds, ask countless questions, never fully satisfied with any answer. She looks at the falling snow, but sees memories from before: building snowmen with her brother, drinking hot chocolate whilst sitting on her mother’s lap.

She looks, but never fully sees because the moment she does, the moment she walks through the haze of guilt and confusion, she will fall. Every step she takes is a moment closer to the truth, and the truth is a double edged sword, a crippling blow of freedom, a moment of blurred clarity.

And she’s scared.

Because that moment of clarity is here, amidst the rusted cars of a fragmented world, amidst the symphony of broken cries, that sound so human, but so different.

She hates the Fallen and they hate her, and this deadly dance ends in the destruction of only one.

_Her own._

Fists pounding the ground, Atlas sobs into the night sky, joining the Fallen cries, as her body trembles in grief.

She screams for the dead, for her family, for her friends.

She screams for her brother, dead at 14, his whole life and childhood ripped away from his grasp with a single bullet in between his eyes. She cries out for her mother who tried so hard to keep them safe, her back riddled with bullets as she covered her children.

And lastly, Atlas screams for herself, because the world is crumbling on her shoulders, because the world she knows doesn’t exist, because her own self is a dead being raised by a dead power who doesn’t deserve to be here, doesn’t deserve this second chance.

She screams, and she doesn’t care if the Fallen take her. Doesn’t care if she dies, or if she gets torn apart, because anything, _anything_ is better than the pain of survival.

Eventually, the screams die out.

And so does she.

**Author's Note:**

> (Have a little Atlas backstory)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
